dying

((This style of poetry/prose is what happens when I read Jim Morrison))

Someone Dying


The lights swirl and blur;
red,
blue,
red,
blue.

I close my eyes.

The sounds are obnoxious;
shouting voices,
sirens,
screams,
screeching tires,
imperative commands,
sobs.

Mine?

I open my eyes.

I smell fresh pain;
blood,
oil,
fuel,
burning metal,
urine,
feces.

I'm numb.
Thick painlessness.
I know it hurts,
but,
I can't feel anything except thick heaviness.

"Here is another one. Man! how many cars were mowed over by this train wreck?"

The words are faint, far away, but I understand.

I'm in shock;
shivering,
dizzy,
nauseated,
impaled.

I remember looking down, just briefly, one small moment, then looking up to hear, the blaring diesel train horn, the screeching metal, the loudness of a boom. It wasn't an explosion, but rather a thunderous scream of the velocity of tons of metal careening off a set of rails.

Again, I close my eyes.

"Get that door open, she is losing consciousness. Quick! we are going to lose her people, let's get moving."

"Hey lady, hang in there we are almost to you. What is your name lady?"

The voice is so far away. I faintly see a face of grim concern, a strong face, one that fits a true hero.

Darkness engulfs and the quiet thrum inside my head blinds my hearing beyond the painful odors and shivering lights.

I do not hear the jaws of life.

Faintly still, I can feel the fluids drain from my body trapped in my clothing.

It is difficult to breathe.

I shiver from a coldness growing from within.

I'm not afraid.

It happened all too quickly and I never felt the fear.

All is the pity.

I figured when my time came, I would be terrified.

Briefly, I open my eyes. Once again, I look down. My chest is caved in. The center post of the steering wheel is pinning me through into the seat. I think it should hurt and I realize that is why I am not afraid. There is no pain. I feel myself smiling as a thought sparks the synaptic gap within my grey matter.

Living was so much harder than dying.

I can do this.

I hear a laugh of triumph.

Victory? Whose?

I close my eyes.

I never feel the hands of the rescuers upon me.

I'm already gone.